


Go Together or Not At All

by willowsandwonders



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: GTA AU, Immortals AU, also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowsandwonders/pseuds/willowsandwonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Geoff, what if we aren’t immortal?” Gavin whispered, turning onto his side in their bed to look at Geoff’s face. There was just enough moonlight coming from the window for him to see the creases in Geoff’s brow—he was sporting the ‘worried old man’ look that Gavin sometimes laughed at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Together or Not At All

     It started when Jack got angry—a rare snapping point and his fist crashing into the face of a bartender that stepped over the line. The man, blood running from where a few of his teeth had been moments before, took a shotgun from under the counter and blew Jack’s head off.

     They’d had to force themselves to run when the bartender’s friends had drawn their weapons—a whirlwind of bullets and hoarse yelling (Gavin’s throat hurt afterwards, maybe it was him) and the awful smell of gunpowder and blood that had never bothered them until it was one of _theirs._

     The penthouse had never seemed so empty. Geoff couldn’t stop saying, disbelieving and _angry_ , that they’d had to leave Jack’s body behind. He’d been sitting the closest, Gavin could see the blood sprayed on the edge of his collar, could smell more of it on his suit jacket from where he was pressed against him.

     An hour later Jack knocked on the door—stolen clothes and hands shaking but _alive_ and _whole._

-

     It happened again when a helicopter malfunctioned and spun out of the sky. Gavin watched it break against the side of a mountain with his heart in his stomach. Ryan and Jack were inside. And it was as awful as the first time Jack had died—felt like fate was punishing them for thinking they could ever get anyone _back._

     There was no sign of bodies in the wreckage, but the metal was warped and twisted to the point where there was no way a human body could have withstood the impact, and by the time they’d been able to reach it the fire had been burning for almost two hours.

     Michael turned around and punched the cliffside so hard that two of his knuckles broke.

     But there was still a tiny spark of hope—maybe it wasn’t a one-time thing, maybe they could come _home._ And Jack could fix the squeaky bathroom door that had bothering him. And Ryan could finish the documentary he’d been watching that morning. And things would be _okay_. He buried his head into Geoff’s shoulder and let him wrap his arms around his shoulders, didn’t want to look at the crash site anymore, and didn’t dare to whisper his thoughts to Geoff, like if he said it out loud it wouldn’t come true—like he’d just wished on a shooting star.

     They came home at different times—stolen clothes again—Jack said he’d woken up at the docks, Ryan in a back alley he hadn’t recognized.

-

     “Geoff, what if we aren’t immortal?” Gavin whispered, turning onto his side in their bed to look at Geoff’s face. There was just enough moonlight coming from the window for him to see the creases in Geoff’s brow—he was sporting the ‘worried old man’ look that Gavin sometimes laughed at.

     But he knew better than to poke fun then. They still had no idea how the returning back from the dead thing even _worked,_ no matter how much they analyzed or researched, the answers just weren’t there. Michael had died earlier that day, picked off by a cop’s bullet before he’d had the chance to tell them he was in trouble. It left an odd feeling in the back of Gavin’s throat. His friend had been _dead,_ and none of them had really known until he’d made his way back to the penthouse where they’d been losing their minds trying to find someone who knew where he’d gone. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it now—the possibility that Gavin could just…die out there and Geoff wouldn’t even realize, just wait for him even though he was never coming back.      

     Geoff opened his mouth and Gavin waited for him to say that of _course_ they were immortal. Instead, he ruffled Gavin’s hair and smiled (though Gavin could see the stress behind it, even in the dark.)

     “Remember Plan G?” Gavin nodded, willed his hands not to shake because why _on earth_ did he think they should be having this conversation so soon after one of their own had died, regardless of the fact that he’d come back—too much stress from the day already without Gavin piling onto it.

     “’Course,” he answered, pleased that his voice didn’t waver and reveal how honestly _scared_ he was. But Geoff knew. Was always good at reading his emotions.

     “When we go down it’ll be in a blaze of glory, _together._ It doesn’t matter if we come back or not, because either way I’ll be with you and you’ll be with me.” He could tell that Geoff said it as much for himself as he did for Gavin. A reassurance that they’d made to each other time and time again. In moments of danger, of doubt, _I’m right here, I’m not leaving, we’re okay, we’re together._

Geoff held him tightly that night and if Gavin had another of his nightmares (always of jobs gone wrong, some memories and some created by his mind) he didn’t remember it.

-

     This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. _Oh God,_ is all he could think, _it isn’t supposed to be like this._

     He and Geoff were pinned down like bugs in a frame and backup was too far— _too far and they have nowhere to run._

     The door was wooden and strong, but he heard the hinges groaning with every blow, metal twisting a bit closer to broken. His gun was empty and his palms were sweating and a graze on his arm was dripping blood and soaking into the carpet drop by drop. There was a hole in the knee of his favorite jeans, skin scraped and bleeding sluggishly beneath it. And the whole office smelled like smoke—fancy cigars from the corrupt businessman whose money wasn’t in the safe because it was a fucking _setup_ and remains of the smoke bomb they’d thrown in the hall to buy some time, get to cover, _stay alive._

     And Geoff—lovely Geoff, next to him with his chest rising and falling more evenly than Gavin’s, whose cologne just managed to cut through the awful stench of the room, who had a white-knuckled grip on an assault rifle he’d taken off one of the hired hitmen. Eyes to the door and ready to spring up in front of Gavin and buy some time, just a little more _time._

     They kicked at the door again and Gavin _whimpered._ He thought he might throw up. This was not the blaze of glory that he and Geoff had always talked about—they were cornered and outgunned and desperate. Four stories up and surrounded on all sides. Both of them huddled next to each other against the side of a filing cabinet trying to buy into the illusion that it could keep them safe.

     Geoff leaned over and kissed him, hard and fast, like they were running out of time. (Because they _were,_ but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.) Gavin tried to memorize it—when they pulled back Geoff’s eyes (blue, such a gorgeous blue, he wished he could look at them forever and forget about the men just outside) scanned over his face like he was doing the same.

     “Forever and ever,” Geoff said over the sound of wood crunching. He stood up and faced the door, raising his gun. Gavin rifled through his pockets, adrenaline in every cell, his fingers brushing around the grenades that Michael had handed him earlier. He’d said that it was for good luck. But it was clear that luck had abandoned them now.

     The door was finally knocked off its hinges. Geoff started firing and so did the men at the door. Gavin drew his knees to his chest and put his hands over his ears like it was the worst sound he’d ever heard. Air wasn’t quite making it to his lungs. He screwed his eyes shut so hard he saw stars. _This is happening,_ he thought on the wrong side of hysterical, _we are going to die here._

   There was a halt in the firing. When he didn’t feel Geoff’s hand on his shoulder a few seconds after, he forced himself to open his eyes.

     Geoff was lying on the carpet in front of him. His eyes were open but they weren’t focused—blood all over the carpet, all over _Geoff._ He couldn’t breathe and Geoff was _dead, dead, dead._

     He pulled the pin on the first grenade with an awful numbness spreading over him, distantly remembering Michael’s lesson on explosives. _Four seconds._

   _One._ Two pins pulled, boots thudding into the room.

   _Two._ The last one done—would hopefully blow when the others went. He was still out of their line out of sight. Didn’t matter, didn’t need much more time.

     _Three._ He rolled the grenades across the carpet, through Geoff’s blood—the office was small, the blast would hit them regardless. _I am going to die._

_Four._

_Blaze of glory. Together._

-

     Geoff was the first person he’d met in America. There had been the people he’d run from when he bolted out of the ship’s cargo hold, the ones he’d stolen from to scrape by, but never anyone that he’d sat down and had a proper _conversation_ with.

   Gavin had run into him, literally, while carrying a purse that was very obviously stolen. And the man (a little intimidating, icy eyes and could probably rip Gavin in half) hadn’t even batted an eyelash. Just bought him a coffee and told him that he was trying to build up a crew—needed some young talent and besides, they both knew that Gavin would probably get himself killed if he kept it up in a town like theirs.

     He’d hit the ground running and after his first official job a few weeks later, Geoff had looked at him and said, “You know, I get the feeling that you’re really going to be something special.”

-

     “Wake up,” Geoff murmured somewhere next to him, voice still sleep-rough. But the mattress was like quicksand and his pillow even more so, the sheets warm and inviting. Geoff’s hand was on his shoulder, lightly massaging it. He didn’t want to move, wanted to lay there forever.

     He grumbled out something unintelligible in response, even to him. And Geoff just chuckled fondly, pushed his shoulder like he was going to roll him over. Gavin made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat but turned onto his side so he could lay against Geoff.

     “I love you,” Geoff said, shifting so he could wrap an arm around Gavin.

     _Love you too,_ Gavin said with the sleepy smile that spread across his face.

-

          He woke up with his heart slamming in his chest, a cold wind tearing through him. He was on the beach, a few feet from the water, clothes gone but skin smooth of his injuries from earlier.

     _Geoff._ Tears sprung into his eyes, something he didn’t experience often, and any shock at his newfound immortality was drowned out by the image of Geoff—bleeding and _dead_ because he tried to keep Gavin safe.

     He stayed on the beach for a long time, tears streaking unbidden down his face while he watched the moon begin to sink, letting the sobs wrack through him.

-

     It wasn’t until dawn began to lighten the horizon that he was able to scrape together the energy to get up. Someone had left their towel behind, he wrapped it around himself numbly. He was driven by only one thing, one last string of hope, that Geoff might be immortal too. Jack, Ryan, and Michael had all woken up in different places—maybe Geoff had done the same.

     That hope dragged him all the way through the back streets and to the penthouse where Jack wrapped his arms around him and pulled him inside, put a bundle of clothes in his hands.

     Geoff was not there.

   “He’s coming back,” Gavin told the mirror as he got dressed. “He has to—he promised me.”

-

     They waited on the couch together. Ryan left at one point, said he needed to check something. Gavin barely noticed—only cared about seeing Geoff walk through the door.

     An hour passed. Another.

     Four hours. _Four seconds._

     Ryan returned. Gavin hated himself for the rush of elation when he’d heard the door open, only for the numbness to rush back in when he realized who it was.

   “Gavin—“ Ryan took a breath. “I found his body, he didn’t come back.”

   His heart felt like it had stopped. Not like that would kill him anymore, though.

     ‘ _Forever and ever’_ ran around his head like it was taunting him. He _promised,_ he thought as Michael tugged him into a hug, barely registering it. _Why didn’t he keep his promise?_

-

   Geoff liked to take him fishing. Just the two of them in his old boat, Geoff with a tackle box next to him and a smile on his face as Gavin tried not to gag at the overwhelming smell of fish. It wasn’t as awful as he’d first expected when Geoff took him out on the water—with the city so far away it felt like they were a normal couple, no gunfights or heists to concern themselves with. Just Gavin and Geoff.

     “I knew I was in love with you the first time I took you fishing,” he said towards the water sloshing against the sides of the boat. Gavin was just glad he couldn’t see the blush already beginning to creep onto his cheeks.

     “It was pretty fucking obvious that you hated it—don’t tell me you didn’t, because you were about to vomit at the smell and looked like you wanted to jump off the boat and drown yourself to get it over with sooner.” It was true, honestly. He hadn’t come to appreciate it yet and at the time he and Geoff’s relationship had barely been starting. Fishing hadn’t been at the top of his list of date ideas.

     “But you took it like a champ, didn’t even complain. And when I kissed you, you just made this happy little sound, and I realized that I was in fucking _deep.”_

     Gavin jumped in to finish the story. “And then you told me you were going to catch a fish and make a dinner just for us, but you kept only getting the tiny fish.” Geoff spun around on his stool to face him, their knees knocking together. He was grinning at the memory.

     “Fucking shitty luck, dude—it happens. And I still bought you dinner after! So I made it up to you.”

     “Well, we were lucky enough to meet each other in the first place.” It was Geoff’s turn to blush a little.

     “I suppose we were.” Geoff kissed him on the cheek, and Gavin wouldn’t have traded a second of it for the world.

-

     It was sunny the day that they buried him. Gavin couldn’t bring himself to wear his trademark sunglasses, too strong of a reminder of the jobs that had taken Geoff from him. So he glared up at the sky like it was to blame too. The weather shouldn’t be so nice. Geoff was dead and he wanted to put a bullet in the birds chirping around them.

     It wasn’t until the fond words had been spoken and the shed tears were over with and Ryan was shoveling dirt into the grave that it began to really sink in. A desperate part of him had still been waiting, waiting for Geoff to walk up to him with a smile on his face and tell him that it was okay.

     They hadn’t factored in immortality when they’d created Plan G, he supposed.

     Because Gavin was immortal, and Geoff wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I somehow cranked this out in one sitting. Please point out any errors if you see them since this has only been loosely proofread  
> I've been meaning to write another immortals thing and I wanted to put up another work, but I'm doing my best to get Running With Scissors updating again and I have some longer stories on the way as well  
> Thanks for reading!  
> (Also my apologies that the first time I wrote geovin I totally killed off one of them)


End file.
